Dragon Hunted

2~ Escaping

The door slammed shut. Draco paced in his room, rubbing his sweaty temples in utter panic. Voldemort was going to kill him. He stopped and looked toward the open doors of the balcony of which the cold night air was blowing in. 

Escape. A voice in his head told him. Escape Death's clutches.

Where will I go?
Anywhere.

It didn't take him five minutes to drape his long cloak over his shoulders, stuff essentials into an expandable pouch and be onward to the balcony outside, the raspy night air like knives on his face.

He brought up his scarf to his nose to cover his cold, pale face as he hopped up onto the railing of the balcony. 

Knock knock knock.

His head shot toward the closed door where someone was waiting outside. "Draco?"

His heart plummeted - that was his mother's voice.

"Son?" Father. Lucius' voice was quiet and cracking, something you'd never expect to hear from the superior wizard. 

He looked from the door to back outside the window, looking at the starry midnight sky. He couldn't do it. He couldn't face the parents who would be heartbroken to see him leave.

So, just as the door handle began to turn, Draco swiftly jumped from the snow-fallen stone balcony railing, his flowing black cloak being the last thing his parents saw of him before he vanished from the manor.

~~~

Aurors from every department are searching for the recent killer of Albus Dumbledore: Draco Malfoy, the boy of which hasn't been seen since two days after the murder of his headmaster. The mysterious dissappearance of this extremely young Death Eater has many people wondering what the Dark Lord's next move is. As of-

Harry cut off his reading there, setting down the Daily Prophet on his bed at the Dursley's house. The majority of the house had been packed and completely unfurnished within one night, save for Harry's room and the cupboard under the stairs he'd spent so many years in, pondering if his life even had a greater purpose than to be a servant to his relatives.

Draco Malfoy had become so much more to him in that few minutes spent up on the Astonomy Tower than he ever had been throughout their six years at Hogwarts together. Harry wanted vengeance. He wanted Malfoy to pay for the harming of his best friend, he wanted him to pay for the months Katie Bell had spent in St. Mungo's hospital. But above all, he wanted him to pay for the murder of Dumbledore. His Headmaster, his mentor, his guider- it was like the world stopped spinning when that very man went plummeting from the tower.

Draco Malfoy was nothing more than a killer in Harry's eyes.

~~~

The Dark Mark is a tracker. Draco remembered that as soon as he'd apparated from home. Voldemort could find him in a matter of minutes, thanks to that disgusting, dishonoring mark on his forearm. 

He'd appeared in the one place that came to mind first; the deserted streets of Diagon Alley. The sky was darkened over in a wave of red gloomy clouds. To his left was Olivander's wand shop. It was where he'd gotten the wand he held so tightly in his gloved hand now. Though now seeing it, he almost let a tear fall. The place had been wrecked and destroyed by a gang of ransacking Death Eaters.

He kept the tears back though; no time to cry over a broken wand store. I'd better hurry up befor they find me.

He crouched down and picked up a broken glass peice from the shattered windows in front of him. He rolled up his left sleeve, and took a look at the Dark Mark. He'd read somewhere that magical enchantments or spells like the Dark Mark could only be tampered with the muggle way - the magical way would just put Voldemort more on alert.

Draco brought the sharpest edge of the shattered glass piece to the mark on his forearm, and squeezed his eyes shut as the blade dug into his skin. He opened his mouth to scream, but nothing came out. Only the screeching of black crows perching on a distant rooftop were heard.

Draco refused to look at the blood he felt pooling out of the cut he'd made. He felt it drip onto his knee, almost causing him to throw up in disgust. He made another cut at the black ink. And another. And another.

After several more cuts at his own flesh, Draco at long last looked down at his arm as he healed the blood with his wand- a similar spell to the one Snape had used on him last year. The mark had practically disappeared. There was no longer any trace of Voldemort's track on the boy. 

He stood up after patching up his forearm with a bandage he'd brought in his pouch. Free to go. 

And he apparated from the spot, just when a trio of Gryffindors appeared.